


Unspoken

by lilian_ariana



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-12 11:45:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/811234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilian_ariana/pseuds/lilian_ariana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Back in King's Landing after the Battle of the Blackwater, Loras finds himself strangely intrigued by a new face at court...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

> I still have no idea where this pairing came from, but it has firmly lodged itself in my head and refuses to budge. So I gave in and wrote this - who knows, maybe I'm not the only one whose mind works in this particularly obscure fashion. :D

Loras had been intrigued since the first time he saw the man. 

Inbetween the endless parades of well-dressed highborn knights and lords and ladies at the extensive feasts and celebrations honouring the heroes of the Battle of the Blackwater, he had looked strangely out of place and yet utterly comfortable in his surroundings - rough around the edges, dressed in scruffy leathers, leaning against the wall with a goblet of wine in his hand. 

And then that rough, scruffy man was called for, made his way to just below the dais the Iron Throne stood on, and was named a hero and knighted by Tywin Lannister himself. 

_Ser Bronn of the Blackwater._ It suited him, Loras thought.

He would have watched the man longer, but just then his sister pulled him back into some inane conversation with a gay laugh, smiling brightly and looking for all the world as though the thought of marrying Joffrey Lannister was the culmination of all her girlish dreams. 

By the time he could extricate himself enough to survey the room once more, the man who had caught his interest had long vanished.

~*~*~

Over the next days, Loras gleaned a few pieces of information from gossip overheard in the Keep and the occasional innocuous question asked in varying quarters.

The man, he learned, was a sellsword in the employ of Tyrion Lannister.

Erstwhile Commander of the City Watch for a short time leading up to the battle; personal bodyguard, assistant and quite possibly assassin for the Imp; with a reputation for pissing off members of the Kingsguard and a general disdain and disregard for courtly manners and all the airs and graces commonly affected by those who regarded themselves his betters.

Once Lord Tyrion had recovered from the wounds sustained during the defense of King's Landing, he'd often see them striding along the battlements or through the corridors side by side, chatting amiably, the sellsword always with a hand on the hilt of his blade. 

He moved like a predator, Loras observed, lithe and lethal, radiating danger the way Ned Stark had radiated honour.

He wasn't sure what exactly it was about the man that had him so fixated; maybe just the fact that he was so very different from all the ostentatious, shiny fanciness of the court, so very different from Renly... 

There would never be another like Renly for him, loving and charming and full of joy. His innocence had died along with Renly, when he had learned the hard way that life was bitter and cruel, with a promise of pain and suffering hovering just out of sight. 

It was not love he was looking for, but something harder, raw and feral like the man he couldn't tear his eyes away from.

~*~*~

It had been weeks since the triumphal entry into King's Landing, weeks of court life and scheming behind the scenes, of smiling and pretending and going through the motions while hiding the pain and loneliness in his heart, weeks of surreptitiously watching the sellsword-knight stalking his dreams more and more often.

He needed an escape from it all, the glitter and the pretensions, and so one evening, dressed in simpler, more subdued garb than usual, Loras ventured away from the Keep and made his way to the darker, rougher parts of the city. In all the time he had spent in the capital, he had never been down this way and he relished the tingle of excitement it brought him. 

A tavern caught his eye, and the rowdy laughter of a group of men drunkenly stumbling out the door lured him closer. 

Maybe this was what he needed, drowning his sorrows in a place like this, filled with singing and shouting and raucous laughter where noone knew him - a few hours away from the court that felt more and more suffocating every day. 

Ducking inside and taking a place at the long counter hewn out of rough wood, he glanced around. 

He had toned down his usual flamboyant appearance before leaving the Keep, yet he couldn't help feeling like he still looked somewhat out of place, too shiny and polished among the rougher crowd populating the establishment.

He wouldn't find the oblivion he sought in a wineglass, he thought, and called for harder liquor instead. Hopefully it would help him stand out less, too.

~*~*~

He was nursing his second drink, rather more slowly than the first which he had downed in one ill-advised gulp, when he returned his attention to his surroundings.

The clientele were mostly men, with a few somewhat scantily dressed women among them, perched at their sides or on their laps and laughing just as loudly. They were nothing like the ladies at court - they seemed like actual people rather than pretty dolls with painted masks, careful never to show too much feeling of any sort lest they be thought vulgar. The men, too, were far from courtiers resplendent in colourful silks and brocades - they were soldiers, perhaps, or blacksmiths, butchers, carpenters; all sorts of men with rough hands, rough manners and rough voices. 

And there, in the midst of just such a group and looking very much at home, stood Ser Bronn of the Blackwater.

Cup in hand and blade as always by his side, he was laughing along with the rest at something Loras could not discern through all the noise and bustle. Over the din in the tavern room Loras's eyes remained steadily fixed on this one man, taking in his every gesture and expression. 

It was generally unwise to stare like this at a man likely capable of killing him with his bare hands, he reminded himself after a while and lowered his eyes, but it was not long before they returned once more to Ser Bronn as if of their own volition.

And Ser Bronn was looking back at him.

Loras felt heat flush his cheeks and quickly dropped his eyes back to the counter, pretending to be engaged in an intense study of the glass in his hands.

After what felt liked an eternity, he risked a quick peek at the man across the room from under his curls.

The sellsword hadn't moved from his spot - and he looked decidedly amused. Probably because Loras was making a complete and utter fool of himself.

Had Bronn recognized him from court?

Loras sighed softly. He should probably leave; return to the shiny, glamorous, fake world inside the Red Keep rather than sit in a dingy tavern shamelessly ogling a man who would surely take exception to the kind of thoughts occupying Loras' mind _\- the strength of that leanly muscled body against his, sword-calloused hands on his bare skin, a soft chuckle in his ears -_ and might make that exception known by way of his blade.

He asked for another drink instead.

~*~*~

The night wore on that way for some time - Loras nursing his drink, shooting ever more lingering glances in the direction of the sellsword carousing with a group of increasingly intoxicated men while the crowd between them ebbed and swelled like the tide with the passing of the hours.

Occasionally, Bronn returned his gaze, looking steadily back at him with amusement etched into his features, until Loras broke the connection. He was getting careless, though, letting his eyes remain fixed on the other man's longer and longer.

He didn't know how much time had passed since he caught his first glimpse of Bronn that evening, but by now the room had emptied considerably, the noise gradually diminishing as patrons left to return to their homes or carry on elsewhere while others had simply passed out at their tables.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the older man sauntering towards him and felt a tingle of fear crawl up his spine.

Had he waited too long, looked once too often or let his face show too much of what thoughts occupied his mind while he did?

Had he offended the man with his looks and would pay for his transgression in blood?

He kept his eyes fixed on his glass, nervously turning it in his hands, letting his hair fall forward to obscure his face.

He could sense Bronn approaching and slowing to a stop when he reached him.

Then, a hand came down on the back of his neck, fingers threading through his curls for a fleeting moment while Bronn leaned over him and spoke quietly into his ear.

"Well, come on then."

And just as suddenly as it had come, the warm weight of the hand touching him vanished as Bronn continued walking towards the exit.

~*~*~

For a moment, Loras just sat there, stunned, wondering dimly if maybe he had just imagined the touch and the words.

And if he hadn't, what did they mean? A flash of arousal shot through him and he tried to quash it, because surely that could not have been the kind of invitation it sounded like in his mind?

Only one way to find out, he decided, downing the remainder of his drink in one gulp. He slammed the glass down on the counter, dropped a few coins next to it and slid off the stool he had been perched on for hours, quickly making his way to the door.

He couldn't see Bronn anywhere when he exited the tavern, but he could hear soft footsteps retreating down a narrow, dark alley around the corner of the building.

Loras quickened his pace, his whole body tingling with an excitement that was made from equal parts of lust and fear. He didn't know what Bronn wanted from him, whether the man intended to fuck him or kill him, but just the chance to feel those strong hands on him again was enough to make throw caution to the wind and follow. 

He turned the corner to find the sellsword leaning against the wall a short way down the alley, arms crossed over his chest, the same amused look Loras had noticed on him earlier on his face.

"Took you long enough.", he said quietly, and hesitantly, Loras stepped closer, coming to a halt in front of the other man.

He would have spoken, but couldn't find any words to say.

And then, quick as a snake, Bronn's left hand came up to hook around the back of Loras's neck, pulling him closer, while the right dropped down to palm Loras's rapidly hardening cock through the fabric of his breeches.

"Is this what you want?"

Loras bit back a moan. The heat of arousal washed through him, his breathing quickened and the pressure of the hand against his cock intensified, demanding an answer.

"Yes", he gasped, "yes, please. Anything."

His eyes were closed, but he could feel the other man's answering smile against his neck for an instant before warm lips and sharp teeth nipped at his skin.

Bronn's right hand made short work of the laces under his fingers before plunging into Loras's breeches, giving him the glorious contact of skin on heated skin that he craved.

He couldn't stop the moan this time, and it sounded doubly loud in the empty night air.

"Shhh...", Bronn whispered in his ear. 

Loras bit his lip in an effort to stay quiet while the firm grip around his cock slid slowly up and down. 

Then the hand stopped and withdrew, eliciting a small sound of protest. Strong hands gripped Loras's hips and spun him around to face the wall.

Bronn leaned in, pressing his own erection against Loras's backside.

"Anything?", he inquired. "How about this?"

He ground his hips a little to get his point across.

The little sound that made its way past Loras's lips at that suggestion was a desperate little whimper. He didn't trust himself to speak, so he just nodded and braced his hands firmly against the wall, pushing back against the hard cock lodged against his ass.

Bronn wasted no time pulling Loras's breeches down over his ass, leaving them bunched up around his thighs.

Loras widened his stance as far as he could and finding two fingers of Bronn's right hand touching his lips, he eagerly took them into his mouth, licking and sucking.

He could hear Bronn's quiet breaths come faster and a rustling sound told him that the man's other hand was occupied in undoing his own laces. That task completed, that same hand took up position on Loras's hip, holding him still as the fingers of the other hand withdrew from his mouth and dropped down to his ass, brushing across his entrance before first one, then two of them pushed inside to prepare him for what was to follow.

A shudder went through him and he willed himself to relax around the digits slowly pushing in and out. It had been a while since he'd done this, and _gods_ , how he wanted more, needed more... 

_Now, now, now!_ , chanted his voice inside his head, and finally Bronn obliged.

The fingers pulled out, but leaving him no time to mourn the loss were immediately replaced by something bigger and firmer, pushing slowly and steadily until the hard length was fully sheathed inside him before pulling back. 

The first few thrusts were almost gentle, but soon Bronn picked up speed and added force, establishing a rhythm that was punishing and relentless and _oh so good_.

The heat, the burn, the pain and pleasure all coalesced into sheer ecstatic bliss and he never wanted it to stop, though he knew he wouldn't last long at this rate. 

The bruising grip on his hips and the rough stone wall under his hands would leave their traces but right now, that pain only served to enhance the onslaught of pleasure that washed through his body like a tidal wave, building, building and finally cresting in a climax that made him see stars behind closed eyes.

All it took was one of those strong, experienced hands touching his cock again and he came, shuddering and trembling, biting his lip to keep from screaming.

Not long after that, just another hard thrust or two or three, Bronn stilled, cock pulsing inside him and filling him with liquid heat.

Loras clung to the wall, barely able to hold himself up while his heart still raced, the taste of iron in his mouth and sweat dripping down his face, a strong arm around his waist the only thing keeping him on his feet.

They stayed like that for a short while, recovering and waiting for their breathing to slow down to something closer to normal. Then Bronn pulled his softened cock out of him, stepped back and set to righting his clothing.

Loras turned around, leaning back with his shoulders against the wall to help support him as he pulled up his breeches with shaking hands and fumbled with the laces. 

He was making little progress, his fingers trembling too much to be efficient, but steadier hands came to his assistance.

Loras looked up at the older man in silence, not knowing what to expect now. He should probably walk away, business concluded, but he couldn't help but linger in hopes of another touch, unwilling to break the physical connection between them just yet.

Bronn regarded him steadily for a moment, and maybe he caught a glimpse of that unvoiced longing to be touched in Loras's eyes.

He brought up his hand to brush a wayward curl out of Loras's face before pulling him in for a kiss.

Loras went willingly, wrapping his arms around Bronn's shoulder and clinging to him as he opened his mouth to let the other man's tongue press inside and tangle with his own. An echo of the earlier arousal spiked through him, a muffled moan escaped him and his fingers tightened on the leather beneath them.

The man kissed like he fucked, Loras thought, hot, hard and merciless, and Loras found himself craving more.

It was over all too soon.

Bronn broke the kiss and disentangled himself, taking a step backwards.

Loras dropped his arms to his sides, leaning back against the wall, his eyes closed. His heart hammered in his chest and Bronn had once again left him breathless. 

He could hear quiet footsteps moving away into the distance, and when he eventually opened his eyes, he found himself alone in the darkness, the cool night air drying the sweat off his skin and the occasional dim sound of laughter from the last remaining patrons in the tavern around the corner the only thing breaking the silence.

He took a deep breath and pushed off the wall.

Slowly but surely he made his way back through quiet streets towards the Red Keep, wincing slightly at the delicious, stinging soreness that accompanied each step, a slight smile the reasons for which no one would ever know lighting up his face.


End file.
